


Without Words

by AdderBaggins



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Titles, M/M, More implied relationship than actual action, just something I found lingering on my laptop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdderBaggins/pseuds/AdderBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The point of light on the screen, a small green speck, had put Bond squarely in the middle of the explosion zone. "Bond?" Q hardly recognised his own voice, a thin thing that wavered in places. There was no reply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Words

After the barrage of gunfire, shouts and then the unmistakeable sound of an explosion, the silence is almost deafening. The only sound in the large room is that of those present breathing. Q was stood before the large bank of monitors and keyboards, Eve to his right and Tanner to his left. The hour was late, they were the only ones left, following Bond's progress through the somewhat tricky mission in Yemen, which had quickly turned into the sort of shit storm that only Bond could attract. From the corner of his eye, Q could see the tight grip Eve had on the back of a chair, could pick out Tanner's restless shuffle. The point of light on the screen, a small green speck, had put Bond squarely in the middle of the explosion zone. "Bond?" Q hardly recognised his own voice, a thin thing that wavered in places. There was no reply.

 

Weeks passed, life moved on, Q understood it. He understood how it happened, because that was what they did. It was the job. Agents were lost all the time, Bond himself on various occasions. He'd been declared dead not long before Q himself had been elevated to Quartermaster status. He'd returned too, weeks later.  
So far eight weeks had passed, and there had been no sign of 007. There had been a service, and though Q had expected some teasing from the other agents, some jokes, there had been nothing. They truly believed him dead this time. Q wasn't sure how to handle that.  
James Bond. The man who had, it seemed at times, existed to torment him, couldn't be dead. Not really. 

 

Weeks turned into months. The seasons changed, agents came and went. Q barely noticed. He wasn't sure why this was hitting him so hard... No, that was a lie. He knew why, he just refused to acknowledge it. He had always been the sort to practically live at work, but now it was rare for him to be out of the office. The small sofa in the corner became his bed, though he rarely slept. He lived on a diet of tea and coffee, the occasional biscuit here and there, except for the times that Eve managed to drag him out of the building for lunch. He saw the way she looked at him, the pity in her eyes, but Q wanted none of that. He wasn't after anyone's pity, he simply wanted his agent back. 

 

Late at night, when no one was around, he sat at his desk with the comms unit open, and spoke. It was highly likely that Bond actually was dead, and even if he wasn't the chances of him having his earpiece weren't high. But Q spoke all the same. Sometimes he would read, parts of a story or some poetry. Sometimes he would simply speak about his day, who was on his shit list, who would be getting the good work. Sometimes, when the day had been particularly bad and he'd managed to break into the scotch, he'd beg Bond to return home. 

 

Nine months to the day, Q was in the middle of Q Branch, typing away on a computer, left to his work by the minions, who knew that this wasn't a day for bothering their leader. Focused entirely on his work, Q didn't look up when the sounds of a small commotion over by the door drifted across the room. Not until a voice spoke. A voice which had his head shooting up so fast something cracked in his neck. 

"I brought my gun back in one piece."

Q stared. The minions stared. Bond stared, and smirked in a way that was so familiar and so achingly frustrating. "You..." Q's voice, once again, was something he didn't recognise. Breaking apart, much like he himself seemed to be, and failing to come together again. His hands grabbed at the table, knuckles white, as Bond hesitated before approaching. "Sorry I'm late." He murmured, sounding unsure, which was so wrong that Q wanted to cry.  
He didn't. What he did do, much to his surprise, as well as all others present, was to swing his arm up and punch Bond squarely on the nose. And then he started to laugh, partly at the look of utter astonishment on the agent's face, and partly because he might have just lost the last thread of his sanity. 

It took almost no time at all for things to return to normal.

M raked Bond over the coals and Eve flat out refused to speak to him for two weeks, before relenting after a hushed conversation which happened to take place in the corner of Q Branch, and involved a lot of pointed looks in Q's direction. 

For a while it seemed like nothing had changed... Except. Except Bond managed to return almost all of his equipment. Bond took to hanging around Q Branch even more than usual, and not to flirt with the Minions as had often been the case, but to flirt with the Quartermaster himself. Bond brought him back presents.  
Q honestly had no idea what to make of that, but he was starting to suspect that perhaps he wasn't the only one who had been affected by those long months. 

A year to the day that Bond had been caught up in that dreadful explosion, Q came into work to find a book upon his desk. Poetry. Flicking through the contents, he saw many of those poems that he had spent nights reading into the comms. His heart jumped, became stuck somewhere in his throat, and he had to swallow back the sudden wetness in his eyes when he heard the voice from the doorway. "I didn't know how to say it."  
Q didn't have to ask what 'it' was. He turned, lips pulling up into a watery smile, and crossed the space between him and his agent.   
"You don't have to." The words were spoken quietly, wisps of breath against Bond's lips.


End file.
